


Swallow

by Headwig1010



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food, Friendship/Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Loyalty, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Headwig1010/pseuds/Headwig1010
Summary: A tale of love, swearing and food.Somuch food.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Dwalin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 32





	1. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like all great love stories, this one starts with low level larceny...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am officially back on my bullshit. XD

The cookie jar had posed an interesting challenge for Dwalin when he'd first snatched it from atop the Hobbit's fireplace, his large, gauntletted hands far too broad to fit into the narrow opening.

But Dwalin had, eventually, found a way to access the cookies. After all, being a war leader required such tactical genius in situations like this.

(And, frankly, it was just easier to shake them out one at a time rather then try and take them out directly.)

Luckily, for Dwalin and his ill-gotten cookies, Balin had proven incorrect in his assessment that it would rain later; The pleasant evening held and Dwalin could sit and guard the Hobbit's front door without getting wet.

Not that the Hobbit's house _needed_ help with that given the wet-behind the ears, fussy occupant who'd provided himself unworthy of evening _speaking_ with Thorin, let alone joining his esteemed Company.

Dwalin had no time for folk who didn't know themselves or their place in the world and Master Baggins _clearly_ had no idea who he was or what he stood for.

No, the Hobbit had **_no_** place with them; He was nothing but a footnote, a forgotten stop on their long path to Erebor.

It was truly a kindness that he was being left behind, Gentlefolk had no place in the wild where they could neither fight or fend for them-

"Oh...for fu- ** _really_**?!"

Dwalin's thoughts were interrupted by the very subject of them, the round green door having just opened behind him, revealing Master Baggins himself.

"Problem Master Hobbit?" Dwalin drawled, unrepentant as he took another bite of a cookie, the jar beside him now more than half empty.

The Hobbit then puffed himself up like a little bird trying to make himself look bigger then he was, his arms gesturing in a wild, all-encompassing motion at Dwalin and Bag-end at large.

" ** _Problem?!_** After you and your fellows eat _all_ of my food, break my plumbing and make yourself at home in _my_ house? No, no problem at all Master Dwarf!"

Dwalin looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, pointedly taking his time chewing before he spoke. "Glad to hear it laddie," he replied with gruff sarcasm, not really having any time for this creatures' feeble protests.

The Hobbit narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his ridiculous dressing gown as he huffed. "Well! If how you treat your host is in anyway similar as to how you intend to treat that dragon, you might just _irritate_ it to death before it gets a chance to eat you!"

Then he turned smartly on his heel and stormed back inside.

Dwalin scoffed, reaching back down for the cookie jar-

-Only to find it already gone, right from under his nose.

_That sneaky little bugger._

Perhaps Master Baggins was more of a burglar then a grocer after all...


	2. Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo was just about done with these proud, suspicious dwarves and they'd only just reached Bree...

Bilbo had had it up to here with these _fucking_ dwarves!

It wasn't enough that they'd stomped into his house, ruining his rugs, his plumbing, his pantry _and_ his crockery but then they **_had_** to sing that _fucking, **thriced** -cursed _song and now...now...

Well, he'd only gone and bloody run after them hadn't he? Like some love-lorn lass he'd upped sticks without a by your leave, found himself dumped atop a pony and then they were off...just like that.

It...wasn't going _that_ well.

The main problem was that he was surrounded by _dwarves_.

Proud, suspicious, _baffling_ creatures that his books had warned were obstinate but he didn't think they'd be _this_ bloody obstinate.

"If yer think we're disarming just to stay in your shitty, little establishment you've got another thing coming laddie." Growled the bald, grub-nosed one at the poor, young barkeep as they stood within the Prancing Pony several days after their departure from Hobbiton.

Now, Bilbo having spent two nights on the road in a bedroll he hadn't used since he was a tween was in absolutely no mood to be denied an _actual_ bed with pillows by anyone.

"Yes you bloody well are!" Bilbo snapped at the giant, his arms folded even when said dwarf, the dwarf king and the rest of them rounded on him.

But Bilbo wouldn't back down, they had _baths_ here, actual, _hot_ baths.

He had to think of a compromise...

"Look," Bilbo said turning back to the barman, ignoring the multiple, steel-eyed glares from his companions. "I heard from Mrs Puddlefoot last week that you were cheated on your last shipment of beer. No self-respecting Hobbit or Man would drink anything _that_ stale. So, what if we were to buy the kegs off you in exchange for being allowed to keep our weapons on us just this once?"

The barman, having far more to gain then lose, agreed and he allowed the dwarves to keep their weapons so long as they remained sheathed.

And, to be fair, the dwarves could hardly complain either, they'd gotten their drinks at a cut-down price after all.

Granted, they did taste a bit... _ripe_ but it was better then nothing.

So as far as Bilbo was concerned, that was that.

As far as _he_ was concerned that is.

"You shouldn't have done that Hobbit," the giant growled at him, his bald head shining in the torchlight.

Bilbo, at the end of his tether, rounded on him. "Oh _sorry_ , Master Dwarf, what should I have done exactly? Let you get us thrown out by our ear because you're too bloody proud to give up your weapons?"

The large dwarf growled at him, "my weapons are the only thing standing between my king and danger you-"

" _What_ danger?" Bilbo snapped, flapping his hands at the jolly tavern at large, "a splinter? His hair getting tangled? Not everything is a battle Master Dwarf!"

The giant narrowed his eyes, "not to soft, _squishy_ folk like you who are used to _weaseling_ your way out of a situation with your fancy words but decent, honourable folk like me-"

"-only steal biscuits out of a jar?" Bilbo deadpanned, utterly unimpressed, his own arms folded.

The dwarf turned a very interesting shade of red at that, spluttering like a bull.

"I thought so," Bilbo sniffed, victorious, "now _do_ enjoy your beer Master Dwarf." And then he turned on his heel and walked away, heading over to join Bofur and the other _reasonable_ dwarves, leaving Dwalin stood faintly dumbstruck behind him.


	3. Jerky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things....Don't improve... _yet_.

Dwarven jerky was a... _complicated_ thing for Dwalin.

The snack carried a _lot_ of memories with it, mostly unpleasant ones. And yet, it's rich, peppery taste with its deep salty twang always made him feel more at ease.

After all, it meant they had _food._

Which, in their long, _long_ exile, had never been a guarantee.

Of course, refining the recipe had taken time, Dale had been their main breadbasket and Dwarves, by and large, did not tend any fields.

Although, they _did_ hunt.

And in those glory days what hunts they were! Mountain bears, wolves, the fearsome boar, anything worth its glory in pelt or horn.

But in exile? When _every_ remaining Dwarrow was precious? When _every_ hand was needed? They went to the smaller, humbler game, hares, deer, pigeons...rats...

Sometimes turning that poor quality meat into jerky was the only thing that made it even _edible._

It had taken a long time, but they were Dwarves and everything they put their hand to could be made exquisite.

And their jerky? With its delicious, chewy-

" _Urgh_! Who _made_ this?" The Hobbit gagged from across the camp, spitting out his first mouthful of jerky. "Fuck me, tastes like an old leather boot left to rot! You people _actually_ enjoy this?"

**_"..."_ **

Luckily for Bilbo it was _Thorin_ who reprimanded him first before Dwalin could get his hands around that stringy, little neck.

As ever, his king was measured and wise, he didn't shout at the insolent little creature as he bloody well deserved.

No, Thorin merely rebuked him for being a soft, _spoilt_ child who was more then welcome to return to his comfortable Hobbit Hole if he wanted fresh meat.

Unfortunately, the Hobbit didn't take the suggestion, instead he hurried away to hide behind the sympathetic coats of Fíli and Kíli who, traitorously, agreed with his assessment of the jerky.

But the boys, thank Mahal, didn't know the hunger that would make jerky made of _any_ meat taste like nectar...not yet at least.

However, such largesse wouldn't last and so it fell to him to end this, _now._

"Tharkûn," Dwalin said to the Wizard later that night, the campfire low, half their Company already asleep. "A word," he demanded, curt and sharp.

The Wizard regarded Dwalin with kindly amusement, puffing on his ever present pipe, "Ah, Master Dwalin, whatever can I do for you?"

"You know damm well what," Dwalin growled, crossing his arms, "your _Burglar,_ send him home while he's still in one piece. That soft, fussy little creature has no place in the wild and _no_ place with us."

Tharkûn regarded him for a long moment, those ageless, deep eyes seeming to pierce him down to the marrow but his tone remained gentle and grandfatherly.

"Tell me, Master Dwarf, were you greeted by a King's Guard when you entered the Shire? Did you see a royal banner fly? Sentries on the walls?"

Dwalin scoffed, "there _are_ no walls."

" _Exactly_ ," Tharkûn replied, emphatic. "Hobbits have no King, no great Lords and no standing army; They are humble, retiring people who live small but comfortable lives...Yet, Bilbo Baggins has _left_ that behind to join you on this dangerous venture Master Dwalin."

"For his own amusement," Dwalin sniffed, unmoved.

But Tharkûn merely smiled, "ah but of course ever other member of this Company joined _only_ for grand, altruistic reasons did they not?"

And Dwalin couldn't help but cast his gaze to the thief Nori who'd only joined their Company to escape punishment for his thefts; To Bofur who made no secret that he was only here for the promised wealth at the end and to Dori who was only here because Ori had insisted.

"Do not judge Bilbo Baggins _too_ harshly yet Master Dwalin," Tharkûn said gently when Dwalin looked back towards him. "He may just surprise you."

Dwalin scoffed, not believing that in the slightest...but, Tharkûn had made his point and so he left it there.

The Hobbit would either leave or he would not.

It was none of his concern.

* * *

Bilbo was utterly _miserable_.

How was _he_ meant to know the Dwarves apparently held _jerky_ sacred? He'd been trying his best blast it all! He'd followed them, despite the insults, the subtle digs, the suspicious glares.

It had been _three_ weeks now but he'd made no progress at all!

Well, that wasn't quite true, he got on well with Bofur, Ori was pleasant if quiet company and the boys were mischievous but they had good hearts.

No, it was the _older_ Dwarves who were the problem! 

Gloin and Oin both regarded him without right suspicion, Thorin only had two expressions either disdain or haughty and as for that brute _Dwalin_ , well! Bilbo certainly had opinions about that huge, bald, growly git who-

"If your face gets any longer laddie I'll be able to use you as a ruler," came the amused but kindly voice of Balin who joined Bilbo on the log he'd gone to ~~sulk~~ _sit_ on after that through dressing down from Thorin.

"Don't say that too loudly or else Thorin might decide I have a use after all," Bilbo grouched, taking a pointed puff of his pipe.

Balin chuckled indulgently, taking out his own pipe and lighting it, letting the silence settle for several minutes before he spoke.

"You Hobbits, you don't have kings of your own do you?"

" _Kings_? Oh no, no, no, we erm just...well, just get on with it really? I mean, we have a dozen Shirriffs to keep the peace but that's about it."

Balin hummed, taking this all in, "so, it must be quite the shock to be surrounded by so many armed Folk all of a sudden?"

Bilbo considered this for a moment then nodded, "well, I just figured fighting was something Dwarves _did_ , you know, along with the mining, blacksmithing and _drinking_."

"So you think we are a naturally _violent_ people then Master Baggins?" Balin asked lightly but with a razor sharp undercurrent.

That cut the poor Hobbit to the quick and he stammered out a nonsensical response of 'wells and nos and I don't reallys' before he trailed of and sighed.

"I-I don't _know_ Balin," he admitted, uncomfortable, "you're...Big Folk, strange and dangerous, it's why we don't get involved in your wars or battles."

Balin let him stew for a full minute before he spoke again, voice kind but also stern, "I imagine the peace of the Shire was hard won in ages past Master Baggins, blood was undoubtedly split so _you_ did not have to spill it yourself. It is merely _chance_ that you see us _during_ that fight now Master Baggins after yours has already been long won. Do not judge us when we _must_ make war until you have a chance to see what we make of peace."

Bilbo ducked his head, thoroughly chastised, Balin's kind words stinging far deeper then Thorin's sneering ones had.

But they were both equally correct...

Then he felt Balin's warm, heavy hand on his shoulder where he squeezed it gently. "Chin up Master Baggins, a bent ruler is of no use after all."

Bilbo looked up and Balin winked before taking his leave, whistling softly under his breath.

That made Bilbo smile a little before he rose, brushed himself off and returned to the camp proper, making his way over to Bombur.

Perhaps he should give their jerky a second chance...


	4. Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin and Bilbo have a chat after the Trollshaws...It's still a work in progress.

At last, civilization!

Fucking _finally._

And O' but weren't the Elves just _glorious_? O' the music, the art, the _food_. _Actual_ food, that was fresh and clean and **_not_** covered in pepper.

Yes, alright, most of it _had_ been salad.

(Something, Bilbo suspected, was entirely on purpose. Damm, if only _he'd_ thought of that he might've been able to spare his vintage ham from Nori's grasping fingers.)

But, it was still _delicious_ , the fruit especially so.

Bilbo had snuck himself a handsome red apple with a sharp, _crisp_ skin and a deep, _satisfying_ crunch when he bit into it.

He'd also snuck _himself_ away, having had quite enough of the suspicious mutterings of the Dwarves.

Yes, alright, he knew there had been many a historical kerfuffle between the two races in ages past but, _honestly_ , who could afford to hold grudges for so long?

And so, Bilbo had found himself on a nice, secluded balcony, happily munching on his apple as he enjoyed the stunning scenery around him.

Which was all well and good...

Until a shadow fell over his resting place.

"Master Hobbit, a moment of yer _precious_ time if yer please?" Dwalin growled above him, eyes flinty.

Bilbo prided himself on _not_ yelping and simply got to his feet, turning to meet the giant's gaze with a sniff, "how may I help you Master Dwarf?"

The Dwarf starred him down for a long, _long_ moment, his fingers flexing at his side before he spoke.

"Yer listen here Hobbit and yer listen good because I will only say this the _once_. Balin tells me yer Hobbits have no Kings and so notion of fealty. So this may be beyond yer _but_ Thorin Oakenshield's life is worth a _thousand_ of yours. **_Don't_** yer **_ever_** assume that he would put himself in danger for yer again the next time yer so fuckin' foolish."

Then the Dwarf turned on his heel and stormed away...

Only to be hit in the back of his head with the half-eaten apple.

Bilbo was standing there, trembling with fury as the Dwarf whirled to face him, his face pinched, his tone bitterly cold.

"Kindly go fuck yourself _Master_ Dwarf, go fuck yourself right up your fucking jacksie!" Bilbo puffed, his face growing red, "you think I _wanted_ any of that business with the bloody trolls? Well if it hadn't been for those daft boys _I_ wouldn't have gone near them in the first fucking place!"

Bilbo crossed his arms, tilting his chin up stubbornly. "So I hope you gave those two lads a good dressing as well, they near enough got us all killed too."

The Dwarf seemed to bristle like an angry cat, his fingers flexing again. " _That_ is entirely different and they're not ' _boys_ ' they are the heirs of Durin and-"

"-are a pair of cavorting idiots who _lost_ the ponies in the first place?" Bilbo finished, arching an eyebrow.

The Dwarf seemed to stutter for a moment, a thread catching in the spoke, clearly unable to believe he was being _sassed_ like this.

Then he smirked, clearly losing whatever internal conflict he'd been having.

"Aye," he conceded, "but they are _my_ responsibility to protect as kin and part of this Company-"

"And I suppose I'm _not_ part of this Company then?" Bilbo asked, trying but failing to not sound bitter.

"Are yer? _Really_?" The Dwarf challenged, arching an impressive brow, "yer seem to love these tree-shaggers well enough, nothing to stop yer stayin' here where it's safe and pretty."

Bilbo drew himself up, looking the huge Dwarf right in the eye. "I signed a contract Master Dwarf, a _promise_ and I intend to see it through, with or without _your_ approval. Good Day!"

Then Bilbo stormed past the Dwarf, picking up his thrown apple on the way and taking a defiant bite out of it.

No point wasting good food after all.


	5. Honeycomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dwalin eats some humble pie and things finally improve.

Dwalin was a proud Dwarf and rightly so, he was the envy of Ered Luin with his exemplary axe skills, his majestic height and his imposing tattoos that _more_ then made up for _any_ hair related deficiencies he may or may not have.

_However_.

He was _not_ so proud that he couldn't admit he was wrong when he was _undeniably_ so.

And he'd been _utterly_ wrong about Bilbo Baggins hadn't he?

Dwalin could still taste the smoke in his lungs from the burning trees, he could still see Thorin _fall_ and Bilbo, shaking, small but so _brave_ , _rise_ where he could not.

Yes, Dwalin was proud.

But he was _not_ arrogant and he owed Master Baggins an apology.

Which, he was sure, the Hobbit was going to milk for all it was worth.

The arse.

"Master Baggins," Dwalin began, holding a plate of fresh honeycomb he'd taken from Beorn's table on a whim, deciding to use it as a peace offering.

"I...came to say sorry to yer, I misjudged yer harshly when I shouldn't have done."

Master Baggins took a long drag of his pipe, looking up from the blanket he'd made himself home on in Beorn's oversized garden, a large pitcher of apple juice beside him.

"Oh no, perhaps you _should_ have Master Dwalin," Master Baggins replied, taking the offered plate. "After all, I _was_ just a foolish, _little_ Hobbit running after a fairytale wasn't I?" He asked with mock sweetness, taking a bite of the honeycomb.

_Oh Mahal spare me._

"Not to mention," Master Baggins continued, examining the honeycomb as he spoke, "me being so 'soft and squishy' _naturally_ made me nothing more then a liability from the very start." He added before taking another bite, the honey catching on his bottom lip.

_Fucking hells._

" _And_ , I _must_ warn you Master Dwalin that, and I will only say this the _once_. You must **_Not_** assume that _I_ would put myself in such danger again the _next_ time Master Thorin does something so _fucking_ foolish."

_..._

"Yer enjoying this aren't yer?"

" _Immensely_ ," Master Baggins smirked, a wolf in rabbit's clothing, "but your apology is half-accepted."

" _Half_? Why half?" Dwalin asked, utterly exasperated.

Master Baggins sniffed, "because _you_ brought me honeycomb by itself! So uncivilized, _where_ is the Pecorino Toscano? Parmigiano-Reggiano? Or even the _Manchego?_ Honestly Master Dwalin, I thought Dwarves meant their oaths and apologies with their whole heart."

Dwalin spluttered, gapping like a fish, flustered and red in the face.

And then Master Baggins burst out laughing, clearly just taking the piss.

"Yer little _bastard_!" Dwalin huffed, torn between outrage and amusement as the Hobbit _giggled_ at him.

"Oh but your _face_ Master Dwalin!" Master Baggins cackled, "I bet you don't even know what those cheeses _are_."

" _I_ Probably know as much about cheeses as _you_ know about swinging that letter opener of yours Master Baggins." Dwalin replied pointedly, arching an eyebrow.

Master Baggins had to concede that and he shrugged, "well then, why don't _I_ teach you about cheeses and _you_ teach me how to fight?"

Dwalin smirked, knowing full well that the Hobbit had no idea what he was getting himself into. "Alright, yer on."

"...You agreed to that awfully quick," Master Baggins realized, a second too late, "wait, you just want to hit me with things don't you?"

"Well, I won't be able to hit yer _if_ you move out of the way fast enough," Dwalin smirked, not expecting any level of fighting skill from the fussy, Gentlehobbit before him.

"How's _this_ for fast enough?" Master Baggins smirked and a split second later Dwalin found himself tackled to the floor by his knees, the Hobbit taking off in a run with the honeycomb in hand, laughing like a lad half his age.

Dwalin sat up slowly, utterly blindsided by the little _git_.

Oh he'd get his revenge alright, that blasted Hobbit wouldn't know what had hit him...

...As soon as he stopped blushing so hard.


	6. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mirkwood dungeons? Can't recommend them myself, utterly _terrible_ catering.

" _There_ you are, _honestly_ , fucking ants nest this place," Bilbo swore, having _finally_ found Dwalin after searching the maze like halls for _two_ days.

"Just _how_ loudly were you shouting to get put right down here?" Bilbo asked, amused as Dwalin just rolled his eyes at him.

The last week had been, without a doubt, the most mortifying week of their little adventure so far. The _highlight_ had been Bombur slipping into a coma after failing into the enchanted river of sleep.

(Or Long Nap Puddle as Kili had taken to calling it before he was swatted around the head by Dwalin.)

After _that_ , the giant spiders had just added _extra_ flavour to an already shit week. _Honestly_ , Bilbo hadn't thought they'd be eaten _before_ they reached the dragon but ho hum, clearly he'd learnt nothing over the last few months.

Oh but _then_ , an hour late and a gold piece short, the _Elves_ had **_finally_** arrived and all the Dwarves had been captured.

(Not that Kili was complaining, the little tart, Bilbo had heard quite enough about a certain elf's _starlight_ already.)

But, back to Dwalin, he...didn't look too great honestly, he seemed... _smaller_ without his armour and axes, dressed in nothing but his underclothes.

"How's Thorin?" Dwalin asked, perhaps sensing Bilbo's line of thought and wanting to cut it off before it became too depressing.

"Er, growly, broody and grumpy?" 

"In top form then," Dwalin chuckled but he looked very relieved.

Bilbo let out a weak chuckle before reaching into his improvised sack, made of a stolen elf gown, and pulled out a large loaf of bread for the huge Dwarf. 

"Quite, anyway, here, put more hairs on your chest then whatever leaves this lot is feeding you." Bilbo tried to joke, passing the bread through the thick, iron bars.

Dwalin took it carefully, catching Bilbo's arm as he tried to withdraw it. "Have _you_ eaten?" He asked softly, his hands seemingly huge against Bilbo's arm but ever so gentle.

"Not-not yet no."

"Couldn't find any _Epoisses_ or _Comte_ to go with yer bread?" Dwalin teased with a slightly mischievous grin.

Bilbo glared at him but couldn't hide his own smile, "arse, besides, with a brown bread like this you'd want to pair it with Cashel Blue."

"Of course, how could I forget?" Dwalin asked, now clearly teasing as he released Bilbo's hand and tore the loaf of bread in two, passing one half back to Bilbo.

"Dwalin-"

"- _Eat_ Bilbo, I've spent over a _hundred_ years at Thorin's side, yer think I can't deal with a stubborn, self-sacrificing git yer got another thing coming."

Bilbo pouted but Dwalin's look was unyielding and he took a bite of the bread.

"How's everyone else?" Dwalin asked as they ate, "is my brother alright, the lads?"

"They're all alright, bitching mostly but Balin's trying to be diplomatic," Bilbo replied, grateful for the distraction and the chance to feel useful. "Nori is working on the locks as best he can, Bofur's keeping everyone's spirits up and Kili is-"

He broke off, realizing Dwalin likely wouldn't react _well_ to what Kili was doing...

"-swooning over an elf?" Dwalin guessed with an exasperated eye roll.

Bilbo's cringe was answer enough.

"Fuck sake," Dwalin huffed, "I _knew_ it, shoulda seen him in Rivendell, sneakin' off with that bloody harp player, comin' back wiv his coat inside out and a stupid grin on his face."

"He _didn't_ ," Bilbo snorted, having missed _that_ little interlude.

"Aye, he did," Dwalin confirmed but didn't sound angry.

"You're...taking it rather well though, Kili being interested in elves I mean...I thought you hated them?"

Dwalin gave Bilbo a look, "aye, as a _group_ , rather daft of me to start hating 'em one by one unless they deserve it like that silver git on his fancy throne. This elf good to Kíli?"

"It's utterly _nauseating,_ they keep telling each other _puns_ trying to be cute." Bilbo huffed, having nearly lost his mind when Kili asked if he could help hims _elf_ to a kiss.

Dwalin groaned, burying his face into his hand, "they're fuckin' perfect for each other then, bloody hells."

Then he looked up, his voice a touch more serious, "tell Kíli to get his elf to help us escape, no matter how minor the way is. Thorin can't argue with a Good Faith debt, even if is too an elf."

"Good Faith debt?" Bilbo asked, confused.

Dwalin smiled wryly, "outsider folk aren't exactly eager to help us Bilbo, so anyone who does a Dwarf a favour without expecting a reward in turn creates a Good Faith debt. Means they get benefit of the doubt in all future dealings yer see?"

"Ah," Bilbo nodded in understanding, "but why would _you_ want to _help_ Kili with this? I mean, it's doomed surely? They couldn't _be_ together even if it _was_ something serious."

"Says who?"

"Er...says _everything_?"

Dwalin snorted, "will Folk judge? Course, don't matter though, they're _my_ lads, I only want 'em happy. If Kíli wants an elf, he can have one and I'll punch anyone who tries to get between 'em."

"Even Thorin?"

"Pfft, _especially_ Thorin." 

Bilbo chuckled, nothing left of the bread now but crumbs, he didn't withdraw from the bars though.

"What about you Dwalin? What do _you_ want?" Bilbo asked in the soft pause, looking at the Dwarf with curious eyes.

Dwalin chuckled, "me? _Tch_ , the kinda bloke I fancy is a man who's brave, loyal, sharp, inspiring and who don't take no shit from no one."

Bilbo arched an eyebrow, "isn't that _just_ Thorin?"

Dwalin looked faintly unwell at the question, "please, _please_ never put that image in me head **_ever_** again Hobbit or I'll be sick. That's like askin' if I wanted to fuck me brother...which is an even shitter image so thanks fer that too."

Bilbo sniggered, "well, you're shit out of luck then Master Dwalin, I don't think anyone else can meet your _lofty_ criteria."

"I'll just have to live in hope then," Dwalin deadpanned but Bilbo missed his sarcasm and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, "not too worry Master Dwalin, a fine Dwarf like you, I'm sure you'll find someone worthy of you one day."

Then Bilbo got to his feet, brushing himself off, "right, I better feed the others, I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully with an escape plan...or at least some cheese."

Dwalin smiled at that, his tone warm, "go on then Bilbo, send me love to everyone...and smack Kili for me."

Bilbo gave a mock salute before turning on his heel and walking of, mulling over in his head who else Dwalin could fancy...

...But no one came to mind so he thought nothing more of it.


	7. Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the foot of the Mountain, the two take a moment to reminisce.

Woodwork was _not_ something Dwarves, as a rule, prized very highly.

It was hardly a surprise, they were the Children of the _Stone_ after all, one grew above, one _was_ the below.

However, Dwalin had gained something of an appreciation for the material in his time in exile. 

Was it not a branch that had once saved Thorin's life? Was it not wood that had sheltered their people in the bitter Dunland winters? Was it not that _same_ wood that had kept something of Dale alive, even reduced as they were?

And so Dwalin was _not_ so dismissive of the Bargeman's home as his fellows were, however, he _did_ judge the man for his poor table fare.

"Dried fish and drier bread, I think it sucked all the moisture right outta my arse," Dwalin mused, joining Bilbo outside in the damp evening air, getting away from the cramped, noisy house behind them.

Bilbo snorted, leaning against the creaking rail. " _There's_ an image." But his voice was softer then usual, his eyes fixed on the faint outline of Erebor just visible in the moonlight.

"And _there_ it is, big and... ** _big_** ," he offered with a small huff of breath, his lips spasming into an almost smile.

"Aye," Dwalin agreed, resting his palms on the wood before him, "quite the view from the top to."

"You've _climbed_ it?"

Dwalin smirked, "had to escape my Ma somehow."

Bilbo chuckled, "oh go on, you can't leave me hanging with just _that_ ~"

"Me and Thorin _may_ have _accidentally_ snuck into the bakehouse and re-shapped the proving dough into a series of cock and balls before the welcoming feast for king Thranduil."

Bilbo burst out laughing, barely able to contain himself and ending up needing several pats on the back as he coughed.

" _H-How_ did no one notice _that_?"

Dwalin shrugged innocently, "we're a showy people, the bread got blind baked then covered in cloth before being revealed at the table...It's only a shame it weren't glazed buns..."

That only set Bilbo off again, now crying with laughter as he elbowed Dwalin playfully in the side. "You're impossible Master Dwalin."

"I try," Dwalin replied dryly, his gaze flicking back to the mountain, "but yer shoulda smelt it Bilbo, the scent of fresh bread risin' through the halls every morning, exactly 8 O'clock, enough to wake up everyone up for the day. And on Feast days? It was always sweet breads, buns, cakes, the scent of sugar thick in the air...No one ever went hungry..."

Dwalin swallowed against the lump in his throat, looking away with a flurry of sharp blinks.

Then he felt something soft curl around his hand and he looked down, finding Bilbo giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"You'll enjoy that bread once again Dwalin," the Hobbit promised fiercely with the conviction of a king. "I _promise_."

And Dwalin couldn't help but believe him...


	8. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold, gold everywhere but not a crumb to eat...

They were nearly out of food.

They'd not brought much with them into the mountain, this was _their_ triumph after all, why would heroes need worry about something so mundane as _eating_?

But they _weren't_ all heroes now were they?

One of them was just a Hobbit, alone, surrounded by wealth uncounting as he stirred a pot of hot water and whatever scraps he'd found to throw in there.

Perhaps there _were_ stores of food deep within the mountain; Sealed jars of honey, aged wines, dried meat but Bilbo didn't dare explore on his own.

Not in this _tomb_.

And so he sat alone, the gleeful, _delusional_ joy of the Company as they explored the once-dragonhoard echoing through the halls as an army sat in siege outside.

"There yer are," came the voice of Dwalin, now dressed in emerald plate, huge and terrifying once again, his eyes agleam.

"What are yer doing?" Dwalin continued, looking rather confused at Bilbo's humble fare.

"Cooking, Master Dwalin, you must be hungry...?" Bilbo asked, trying to coax some _normal_ reaction out of the Dwarf.

"Hungry?" Dwalin asked, the word clumsy and heavy, as if foreign on his tongue. "...Aye, aye I am..." He replied after a few moments.

Bilbo nodded, quickly scrambling up to get them two ornate silver bowls he'd rescued from the hoard earlier.

That seemed to amuse Dwalin, the cold gleam in his eyes growing warmer as he drank the meager soup from the decorative silverware.

"I got somethin' for yer Bilbo," he said after he'd finished, his words more grounded now, "somethin' just for yer."

He rose, reaching down and pulling Bilbo up and along without a by your leave, his grip gentle but unbreakable.

Bilbo went along with it but frowned as he did so, muttering about being 'Dwarf-handled' but he didn't protest overmuch.

However, Dwalin didn't lead him back towards the treasure room as Bilbo expected but deeper down into the mountain, walking through the dust-caked halls as if he never been forced from them.

"Close yer eyes,' Dwalin instructed when they arrived at an old oak door, several runes clumsily carved low down into the wood by a child in long years past.

Bilbo obeyed with a sniff, not one for surprises himself but he trusted Dwalin and so indulged him.

And then Dwalin was leading Bilbo into the room, turning him around then pushing him down.

But before Bilbo could even yelp he was caught by something soft which, upon opening his eyes, was revealed to be an armchair.

It was plush and low to the ground, the fabric old but recently cleaned, the cushion plumped and a woollen blanket laid across one arm.

Dwalin grinned at him, looking around the cosy room, "this belonged to my grandfather, funny ol' git, liked everything comfy, excellent bloody knitter he was."

Bilbo looked up at Dwalin, a lump in his throat.

Oh no, oh no this wasn't _fair._

"Can't give yer a garden yet," Dwalin said apologetically, "but two outta three ain't bad." He finished, turning to the bookshelf.

"Granted, yer can't read most of these but I'm sure me grandfather had some in Westeron. Probably a fucking romance novel, soppy ol' fart he was, or there might be-"

Bilbo broke Dwalin off by hugging him fiercely, unable to take it any longer, the guilt clawing through his throat.

Dwalin froze for but a second before he wrapped his arms around Bilbo, soothing him with a well-practiced back rub, that had been honed by years of comforting ever troublesome lads.

"Come on, let's sit yer back down," Dwalin said reassuringly, plucking out a book and walking them back over to the armchair, pulling Bilbo into his lap and holding him close.

Bilbo didn't realize he'd even fallen asleep until he woke up several hours later, the candles having burned low in their holders.

Dwalin had a lulling, warm reading voice and so, truthfully, it wasn't that surprising that he'd dozed off to it.

The Dwarf himself had also fallen asleep in the meantime, arm still secure around Bilbo, head facing the door.

Safe.

Heart _aching_ , Bilbo carefully wiggled himself free, tears in his eyes.

He had to go.

Now.

Before it become unthinkable.

But there was an army at their gates.

They'd run out of food.

And he couldn't _bare_ the thought of Dwalin ever going hungry again, not in his home.

So he left him there after tucking him in with the blanket, his fingers lingering too long against Dwalin's chest before he forced himself away.

He had to do this.

For them.

For _him._

And so up he went, up and out, the moonlight guiding his way as he lowered himself from the battlements and towards the encampment beyond.

The Arkenstone carefully tucked into his coat...


	9. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving away the heart of the Mountain...
> 
> (And breaking your own in the process.)

Hobbits didn't have kings.

They were a small people in a big, wide world after all.

No, they simply kept themselves to themselves and that was that.

So, facing down _two_ of the bastards and a definitely _not_ human-but-fuck-knows-what-he-was Wizard in his grimy coat and loose breeches definitely _wasn't_ something Bilbo was particularly keen on doing.

But face them down he did.

Even when Thranduil rebuked him for having freed the Dwarves right under his nose.

Which had been very funny.

And Bard who'd asked why he'd come.

Which was... _not_.

Because he'd come to give away the Heart of the Mountain.

That wretched, glowing, _cold_ thing it was.

And Bilbo's own heart _clenched_ as he watched them all eye it with blasted want and _greed_.

But it was his fourteenth share and _no_ , he wasn't doing it for _you_ , you stuck up _bastards_.

("Look, I know Dwarves can be obstinate and pig-headed and difficult and suspicious and secretive with the _worst_ bloody manners you can possibly imagine...)

("... ** _But_**...")

("They're also brave...")

Such as Óin, defying his king as to stay with his patient.

Nori, sneaking through the Elvenking halls to steal back their weapons while under the threat of death.

Bombur, taking on six goblins alone to protect his brothers.

Gloin, unbowed before an Elf Lord in his realm despite all the spears around him.

Thorin, who could look the Defiler in the eye and stand his ground.

Kíli, who loved recklessly and true.

("...and kind...")

Such as Bifur, who gave away toys in villages they passed through, accepting only smiles in payment.

Bofur, always there to joke and sing whenever you need him.

Fíli, sharing his food, his blankets and his reassurances as easily as breathing.

Ori, drawing every little thing for everyone when asked, from portraits to flowers, whatever you needed to hold close he'd create.

Balin who always listened with the patience and wisdom of a grandfather, never judging and always gentle.

("...and loyal to a fault. I've grown very fond of them..."

Such as Dwalin who...who...

_..._

("And I would save them, if I can...")

No, it wasn't for _you_ at all...

* * *

Dwalin had been Thorin's closest friend for nearly all of their lives.

Granted, Thorin hadn't had an _extensive_ list to choose from, as Balin liked to tease, but Dwalin knew what they had was something true and strong.

But that was the thing about people you loved, who you trusted with everything and more, is that when they began to _change_...you couldn't always see it when your heart overruled your eyes.

Thorin had never worn a crown before, only the king had such a right and, even then, it was more for the benefit of other races than their own.

A Dwarf could tell their sovereign by his bearing, his straight back, solid feet, unflinching gaze. One word and you would know Thorin Oakenshield was a king, even in a stained blacksmith apron with soot under his fingernails.

Thorin had not removed the crown in nearly two weeks now.

But Hobbits didn't have kings did they?

They had their Shriffs and Mayor and Gentlehobbits, they were not a people of oaths and bone-deep _loss_ as the Dwarrow were.

Perhaps that was why Bilbo had found it so _easy_ to castaway the heart of a People because he loved those thirteen small, individual hearts too much, too _simply_.

("You have _no_ claim over me you little **_rat_**!")

Cheeses and sword swings, pairing and parrying.

He'd taught and been taught himself.

("Do not speak to _me_ of **_Loyalty!_** ")

Children's stories on stormy nights.

Tales of home when his heart had ached so deeply.

("Throw him from the ramparts!")

Soft curls under his hand as Bilbo slept.

The gentle hands laying a blanket over him as he stood watch.

( ** _"Do you not hear me?!"_** )

Casual touches, backs turned, sharing food, sharing warmth...

Trusting and trusted.

("Then I will do it myself!")

And, _finally,_ Dwalin _saw_ the truth.

Now all that was left was to _move..._


	10. Cheeses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go home.

Bilbo had thought he'd known war.

He'd read about it time and time again in his books, curled tightly in his armchair, tucked under his blanket with a cup of chamomile tea.

War was exciting, glorious even, a clash of strength and tactics, all detailed neatly on the page.

But in _person_?

It was blood and shit and piss.

It was agony and terror and rage.

It was grief upon _grief_ , hearts torn open like the earth, the air rent with naught but wails.

He was a GentleHobbit, not used to fighting nor fending for himself.

And he _needed_ to go home.

"Easy there girl, easy," Bilbo soothed his new pony as her back was loaded with supplies for his and Gandalf's ride back to the shire.

He'd already said most of his goodbyes.

Poor Kíli had struggled up from his bed, the lad still healing after Bolg's attack, didn't stop him hugging like a terror of course.

Fíli was gentler, his depth perception rather off thanks to his bandaged eye but he still patted Bilbo on the back and ordered him to write as soon as he got home.

Thorin had been very quiet, humbled, his breathing now rattling but he still mustered up a smile.

He'd simply wished Bilbo well, reassured him he was always welcome in Erebor and simply asked for his address so he could forward his share on his rightful to him.

It was _so_ Thorin as to be almost comical.

But Bilbo merely had smiled.

The others had been a mixture of teasing, hugging, well-wishing and crying, Dori gifting him a new set of gloves and Bifur an oak carved eagle.

There was just one person left now.

"Yer got everythin' Bilbo?" Dwalin asked softly as the Dwarves loading Bilbo's pony took their leave, their job done.

"Oh! Yes, yes I...I think I have Master Dwalin." Bilbo said flustered, not looking at the Dwarf, his hand curled tight around the bridle.

"A single Hobbit can only take so many handkerchiefs after all," he joked before looking up at Dwalin and freezing, a lump in his throat.

The Dwarf wasn't armed, he was just dressed in a wool coat and breeches, his eyes soft and aching.

Bilbo knew Dwalin wouldn't stop him from leaving.

That just made it all the harder.

"But never enough spare buttons," Dwalin added, his smile shaky.

"Q-quite," Bilbo agreed with a sniff, looking away again to fumble with his pack.

"But, I've-I've got something for you before I go, straight from Thranduil's cellar."

He turned and opened up a small wicker basket, revealing a fine selection of aged cheeses.

"Here we have a lovely bit of brie, e-excellent with-with...apples or honey...there's lovely wedge of edam, best s-served with crackers oh and look, a block of aged cheddar best...best..."

"...Grated and sprinkled over baked potato," Dwalin finished softly, voice breaking.

Bilbo nodded, closing his eyes and ducking his head, tears running down his cheeks.

Then he felt the basket being gently taken from him and set aside before warm, strong arms were wrapped around him.

"A-ask me to stay..." Bilbo pleaded softly, "ask me and I will."

"Aye and yer'd just be hurting," Dwalin replied with heartbreaking kindness. "Yer need to heal Bilbo and yer can't do that here. Yer...yer need to go home."

"I know." Bilbo whispered, squeezing Dwalin all the harder. "I wish you could come with me."

"Me too," Dwalin admitted, "but Thorin, the lads, they _need_ me."

"Damm right they do, _someone_ has to have a brain between the four of you."

They both laughed, watery and weak.

And then Bilbo forced himself to let go, cheeks glistening with tears.

"I'll see you again," he promised, jabbing his finger into Dwalin's chest. "Just you wait Master Dwarf, just you...just you wait."

"I will." Dwalin promised before helping Bilbo mount his pony, Gandalf already waiting for him.

"Ride safe Bilbo," Dwalin said gently, squeezing Bilbo's hand, "and I wish all the luck in the world..."

And then Bilbo was trotting away, the pony carrying him where his legs couldn't have bared to go.

Dwalin watching him until he vanished out of sight...


	11. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There and back again.

Six months had passed since Bilbo's return home to the Shire.

It was now Spring, the Mountain flowers in full bloom, coating the landscape in their pearl-white petals.

The reconstruction efforts were going well, most of Smaug's filth had been washed away and the halls once more glowed with light.

And, _at_ _last,_ the bakery ovens had been fixed, the rich smell of baked bread _finally_ filling Erebor again.

"Bombur is making a _fine_ Master of the Bakehouse," Thorin noted with faint amusement, Dwalin snapping back to himself and losing the hungry look on his face as the scent of freshly baked buns wafted through the halls that morning.

"Aye, he was born for it." Dwalin agreed, "the engraved battle ladle was a nice touch."

Thorin chuckled, "I do have _some_ sense of humour." He pointed out, "but, come on, we might as well check on the state of the storerooms if we're going to pass the kitchens anyway."

It was a weak excuse, Thorin enjoyed Bombur's buns as much as anyone else in the Mountain.

Unfortunately, in one of the disused storerooms, _Kíli_ was discovered to be enjoying _Tauriel's_ ' ** _buns_**.'

Rather _enthusiastically_ at that.

The ensuing _conversation_ was one of the most awkward Dwalin had ever been forced to endure, with Kíli a mix of mortified, pleading but also defiant as he tried to explain himself.

"Dwalin," Thorin sighed once Kíli had finished, "please take my nephew to get cleaned up, I would like to talk with the Elf _alone_."

"Sorry lad," Dwalin said as he lead the now sniffling Kíli away, "he won't hurt them will he?" He asked, voice laced with anxiety.

Dwalin shook his head firmly, "no, he wouldn't." He promised but he couldn't help but remember Thorin moving towards Bilbo, _grabbing_ for him-

_No._

Thorin had not been himself. 

This was different, this was the _Lads_ , Thorin had only ever wanted them happy.

It would be _fine..._

* * *

"Come in Dwalin," Thorin ordered through his door that evening, sitting behind his desk in his Grand Chambers of State.

"Thorin," Dwalin nodded when he entered, still a bit baffled by the official summons that had arrived for him minutes ago, ordering him to go to the King at once.

"Kíli is determined to have this _elf_ , regardless of the consequences." Thorin sighed, "and, from what he tells me, _we_ owe them a Good Deed debt, something _you_ told him to initiate."

Dwalin shrugged, unrepentant. "Lad was smitten with them and it did help us escape."

"Only _just_ and now the only reasonable grounds I have to deny their relationship is by the fact the Elf has no High Standing." Thorin pointed out, quite unreasonably.

Dwalin frowned, "that doesn't matter Thorin, yer can't make it matter."

"I can and I have."

" _No_ , I'm your War Leader, I can give the Elf a position."

Thorin paused, raising an eyebrow. "Very well, as you offered, you are stripped of your title as my War Leader, effective immediately. _Tauriel_ will be taking your place, giving the High Position required for them to wed Kíli. Congratulations."

Dwalin stopped dead, his heart clenching.

"Yer _can't_ , yer _need_ me."

" _Do_ I? At least the Elf has been _loyal_ to us and _didn't_ turn upon me on the ever ramparts of our kingdom. You are dismissed Dwalin."

Dwalin gritted his teeth, simmering but he had no retort, only sadness.

And so he bowed his head, turned on his heel and went to leave.

"But before you go," Thorin called, "I've just written a letter to the Mayor of Michel Delving, as you're so _fond_ of Hobbits I need you to proofread it for me, aloud if you please."

Dwalin snarled before doubling back and snatching the letter from Thorin, reading as quickly as possible so he could just leave.

_"Dear The Mayor of Michel Delving_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health for you and your Kin._

_I am writing to you to inform you of the great service one of your constituents, a Master Bilbo Baggins, has performed for me and my people._

_As a gesture of goodwill towards you and your people, please find attached to this letter a sample shipment of artisanal products of Erebor, including jams, salted pork and cheeses._

_Should you have any questions or enquiries as to any further business please direct them to-to...Ambassador Dwalin."_

Dwalin stopped reading to look up from the letter at the now _grinning_ Thorin.

"Congratulations **_Ambassador_**."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes and _lunged_ at him.

"Yer bloody bastard!" Dwalin shouted, wrestling Thorin to the floor as the King laughed, "yer utter prick! Yer such a fuckin' arse why do I even bother with yer!"

Thorin wiggled free and rolled away, still laughing. "I could hardly pass the opportunity up now could I? Do you know how long it takes to age cheeses? Wait, yes you do, of course you do."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes, "You knew all this bloody time didn't you."

Thorin shrugged innocently, sitting up against his desk. "Subtlety has never been Kíli's strong suit, or _yours_ for that matter."

His tone softened a little as he looked at Dwalin. "Your work is done Dwalin, we _made_ it, you can finally lay down that burden. I release you from your oath...Now you go back to your Hobbit, it's time for you to put your own needs first now. _Go._ "

Then Thorin smiled, the king he'd _always_ been shining through.

Dwalin was too choked with emotion to speak so he simply made his way over to Thorin and embraced him tightly, their foreheads touching.

_Brothers._

Forever and always.

* * *

Bilbo was sitting down for dinner, as usual, at 4 O'clock that evening, snuggly wrapped up in his patchwork dressing gown and slippers.

He'd decided to have fish for dinner, a good mackerel with accompanying bread basket alongside a cup of tea, richly steeped.

But just as he was squeezing lemon juice over the dish... he heard a knock at the door.

"If that's you Lobelia Sackville-Baggins then you can bloody well do one, I'm not-" And then Bilbo broke of, having opened the door to find _not_ Lobelia but Dwalin, holding in his arms a basket of fresh baked cookies in a Dwarven made cookie jar.

"Dwalin, at your service." The Dwarf said with a little bow and an impish smile.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours you _bloody_ bastard," Bilbo grinned before throwing himself into Dwalin's arms, kissing him deeply.

The cookie jar falling, _long_ forgotten, to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! 😊
> 
> This ship really needs some more love so I was very proud to add this little piece to it.
> 
> Thank you to Ziriah once again for all your help and stay safe everyone! 💖


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